"Oh my gosh, you've got to be kidding me. What am I supposed to do? Just dig around for buried treasure?" Chase couldn't hold back the look of disgust as Cameron handed him the bedpan.
Cameron shrugged, once. "House told me to pass it on along with some degrading message about your hair which by the way, I think looks fine." Almost instinctively Chase began to pat the back of his head as though checking to make sure not a single piece was out of place. "Don't be so vain," Cameron said with a tone of subtle mockery. "You know, life isn't just about looking good or showing people that we have the best wardrobe out of everybody. It's about people and their thoughts and the emotions our society can feel. And – you're not even listening to me right now," her voice drowned off as it became apparent Chase was still focused on the spread of his hairline. "Men," she muttered under her breath. "You're all arrogant bastards." And with a slight shake of her head, she was gone.
- - -
"You're a jerk," Otley announced as she bristled into House's office. He was seated behind the desk, legs propped atop a pile of what she assumed were supposed to be important documents – treated with respect, fingertips twitchy against the colorful buttons of a videogame.
"Look just because I may have harassed your little friend doesn't make me a jerk," House replied. His eyes never left the game. Every now and then he would unconsciously inhale with a slight groan. "Now see," he said as he gave the game a sharp rap with the back of his knuckles as though for emphasis. "This is exactly what's wrong with the entertainment for today's youth. When my little samurai dies it's by an anvil or an evil woman with unnaturally large breasts – or guns. But everybody knows that's not how they would really die; the whole hari-kari process. I mean where is the history? Kids today, it's all space aliens and mutants. Whatever happened to good old fashioned suicide?"
"First of all, you did more than harass. You probably undid about four years of therapy right there. Secondly, I find it a little sad to see a grown man complaining about a game for today's youth when you are much closer to being six feet under than a part of that category." House watched as she stood her ground, tiny as she was. Somebody had obviously given her clothes to borrow, perhaps from the lost and found, as she was now dressed in a pair of denim shorts, the edges frayed over time and cut rather small though on someone so petite it was hardly noticeable. She wore a series of tops, layered to clearly what was considered a style among the rich and the famous. It always boggled his mind that people with money would pay so much to look so damn poor.
Otley paused, suddenly noticing the doctor's shift in focus. "Are you staring at my chest?" she murmured fiercely. It was true, his eyes had been lilting in that general direction. The tops she had chosen were clearly meant for children and despite her rather gaunt stature her chest was certainly close to being exposed. And House thought Cuddy wore revealing shirts! "Look I know that I'm absolutely adorable but let's not stray from the fact that I'm completely pissed."
"Which makes you all the more adorable," House concurred as he set his game down at last. Hands moving freely he once more unscrewed the top of his Vicodin bottle. Two smooth pills slid perfectly down the back of his throat – it was relief.
"Is that so?" Otley's brow rose slightly as she licked the pink muscle of her lips absently.
"I do have eyes, you know." House fought a grimace as a sharp pang electrified throughout his stomach momentarily, but Otley was not fooled in the least.
"You should really have food when you take those," she pointed out. "In fact," she said as she began to root through the contents of the purse she had slung over her dainty left shoulder. "Here." Producing half a sandwich in a plastic bag she tossed her findings effortlessly over towards House which he caught without the slightest show of emotion. The room was silent for a minute as House began to un-wrap the day old bologna and cheese. "You're welcome."
"Yeah I do my best not to thank people. It creates expectations I don't know if I can keep."
"Wow," Otley said in wonderment. "Just wow. You really think you are just so special don't you? I mean here you are - the diagnostician. You can figure everybody out just by a simple conversation or maybe even just a glance. Hell, you probably think you've got me fucking figured out. You revel in the fact that people keep you at a distance because you think it makes you somebody because you're just too afraid to be yourself. No you have to be bigger than that or else there isn't anything worth being. Well let me tell you something," she continued as she trailed her fingertips through the dust that lined the surfaced of his desk, creating elegant patterns. She was moving closer to him and he just watched in silence; chewing and chewing. "I've spent the past few years of my life meeting new people every single day. I've met people who look like they would snap your baby's neck in half but in reality they love have tea parties with their friends. I've trusted just about everyone and learned to trust just about no one. Nobody likes me House," she whispered with steely collectiveness. "I'm the reason girls can't live out their fantasies with Connyr. They write me death threats. They write stories online about me being in car accidents or having cancer just so they can create their own little character to come in and save the day. It's scary shit. But over the years I've come to read people like the words of a book. And do you know what?"
House swallowed, actually listening as the diminutive girl inched all the more closer. It was bizarre the way she was entrancing him with simple words, or perhaps it was the way she was moving her body; flirtatiously. The room was filled with simple sunlight, strands peeking through the blinds as they danced across her epidermis in geometrical patterns. "What?"
"I bet that I can read people better than you." House's eyes were transfixed dully upon her own, the sandwich still lolling about against his tongue. "I bet there are secrets you don't know about those closest to you that I could unravel in a matter of days. You sit there and pride yourself so much on having this gift but you don't even know what it is. Yeah so, congratulations – you save lives and I know who not to give my phone number to. Obviously in the end everything points to your victory but there's more than analyzing patients. I guarantee you that by the time Connyr is released, I'll know more about you than anybody else in this entire building."
"Fine," House said at last. "You're on. At the end of all of this we'll see which one of us figured the most out about one another. And I expect there to be money when I win."
Otley paused, frowning almost childishly. "I don't have a lot of money. Connyr's the rockstar not me."
"Fine, get your boyfriend to sign a picture before he leaves. I hear they sell for quite a bit on E-Bay. It must be hard to come across."
"Connyr's got anxiety issues. He doesn't hang around after a show to greet the fans like the others do. Sometimes if they catch him on a good day they'll get lucky but that's maybe happened once or twice in the past year." Staring down at her nails, black polish chipping away, Otley went suddenly demure. "Do you think maybe you could let me stay with you tonight?" There was a naïve hesitance in her voice and before he could reject her plea she rushed to her conclusion. "It's just the nurses said I can't spend the night for security issues even though I'm his fucking girlfriend, and I know he'd give me the money to rent a hotel room but I haven't slept in a place alone for almost eight years. I don't even know if I could. I'll be really quiet, please."
House was stunned as the bold and defiant minx that had been sashaying about his office just minutes before crumpled into a terrified little girl. "Fame really fucks you people up, doesn't it?"
"I'm not famous," Otley reminded him though she certainly lived the lifestyle of hustle and bustle. " - but yeah, it does." House could not believe how lonely she appeared, standing there stripped of all her brash glory. It was as though she had spent her life protected by a throng of people, the constant stream of noise becoming comfort rather than moments to oneself.
"So let me get this straight. You march in here and call me a jerk and now you want a place to stay and I'm supposed to cave?"
"I'll get Connyr to sign a guitar too. You'll make more in a night on that thing then you would in a week of overtime," Otley offered hopefully.
"Fine. You can have the couch. Wilson's coming over for dinner," he motioned towards the direction of Wilson's office, "so make sure you're back here by seven so I don't forget to leave with you. And the remote controller is off limits. That's a man's toy," he droned with a hint of sarcasm.
"I don't care what it is you shove up your ass for shits and giggles, I won't touch a thing." Obviously overwhelmed with relief that she would not spend a night alone, she reached forward and wrapped her thin arms around the length of his neck, pressing a girlish kiss against his cheek. "Thank you."